


Don Quixote

by Fledhyris



Series: Introspectives [6]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Brothers, Canon Compliant, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hell Trauma, POV Sam Winchester, Sam's quest for revenge, Season/Series 04
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2020-01-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:08:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22163839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fledhyris/pseuds/Fledhyris
Summary: Goaded by Dean's nightmares, Sam pursues the only course he can think of: strengthen his powers to take all of them down, so there is nothing left for his brother to fear.Originally posted on LJ as 'Sam's Turn', in 2009; but I feel like Sam in s4 was desperately and increasingly tilting at windmills.Gifted to Jet44 in honour of her beautiful and poignant story, 'Answer My Cries', in which her Sam does a rather better job of comforting.
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Series: Introspectives [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1444000
Comments: 6
Kudos: 14





	Don Quixote

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jet44](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jet44/gifts).



Sam sits by the side of Dean’s bed, stroking his brother’s hair. Calming him while he dreams of Hell.

He’s been doing this for months, ever since Dean admitted he remembers.

Dean whimpers and squirms, his breath hitching and panicked, sweat prickling his brow. Some nights he calls out, to Sam, to Dad, to Mom. He sounds like a lost, frightened child, and when Sam soothes him, he turns his face into his brother’s large palm, nuzzling desperately for comfort. Sometimes it takes only a few minutes to calm him, sometimes Sam sits there for an hour or more, stroking and murmuring until Dean’s breathing evens and he relaxes back into deep, dream-free sleep.

On the worst nights, Dean cries. He gabbles in his sleep, fragmentary words of loss and pain and fear slipping out in the wash of tears. He apologises a lot; for failing them all, Sam, Dad, the angels. Lately, a new apology has been added to the list. Now Dean thinks he has failed the world, bringing the Apocalypse on their heads. He often asks ‘Why did you save me?’ in a voice ragged with self-loathing.

Sam can only take so much, and it’s nights like these which send him out, keying Ruby’s number into his cell phone before he’s out the door, looking for demons so he can exercise his powers.

There’s always a demon, wherever they go; it’s as though they follow him, taunting, flitting at his heels in the shadows like ‘roaches. He doesn’t question how Ruby always knows where to find them. He welcomes the fight, punishing them for what they’ve done to his brother, willing himself stronger so that he can go after Lilith.

He doesn’t care about the Apocalypse. Doesn’t care that the demons are possessing innocent people. Sure, he’ll save them; if he can. But it’s a mere nod to his own humanity. He doesn’t really care. All he cares about is the whimpering wreck of his brother back in their motel bedroom, dreaming of pain and failure. The demons have diminished Dean, sapped his vitality, his cocksure, swaggering approach to life. He’s no longer the big brother Sam could always depend on, whether or not he needed to; their roles have reversed, and now it’s up to Sam to make things right.

He wishes he could do more to comfort him, but Dean has always made it very clear - no chick flick moments. ‘Oh God does that mean we have to hug now?’ – mocking Sam whenever he shows the slightest inclination to give rein to his more tender emotions. Dean has spent so long behind his game face that Sam thinks he doesn’t even remember anymore that it’s a mask.

That’s Dean in his waking moments. Sleeping, he’s different. The mask slips, and the vulnerability yawns like an open wound, all the more terrifying because Sam can’t think of a way to ease him, even though Dean is crying out, begging for consolation in the darkness of his dreams. All Sam can do is offer that lightest of touches, stroking back sweat-dampened hair, brushing fingertips in a soothing caress over cheeks pinched hard with terror. It helps, a little; but not nearly as much as Sam wishes. It doesn’t stop Dean from dreaming, night after night; doesn’t lift his burden of recrimination and self-doubt.

Dean won’t knowingly let his little brother help him, so Sam does the only thing he can. He goes after the demons, wreaking vengeance in his brother’s name. He knows Dean is afraid of his powers, but Dean is always afraid, these days. Maybe always was; but time was, he hid it better. Sam is determined not to stop until there is nothing left for Dean to fear anymore. If Dean can stop being afraid, those iron-clad walls he has forged around his soul can begin to open. Perhaps then, he might let his brother in.


End file.
